Marking Time
by dilly r
Summary: Time heals all wounds. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. There is a cliche for every paradox. [A reaction to the series finale. Spoilers for the entire series.]
1. Denial

**Title:** Marking Time: Denial  
**Author:** dilly r  
**Archive:** Madpash dot com. Others must ask by sending an email to dilificus at gmail dot com.  
**Summary:** Time heals all wounds. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. There is a cliche for every paradox. A reaction to the series finale. Spoilers for the entire series.

* * *

They will all die before she does. 

They have known her for ten years, so they find a comfort in the way she handles his death. They think it is a Vulcan thing, that her reaction is not cold.

They are wrong. It is cold.

Her blood is cold. Her bones are cold. Her nervous system is cold. Her tissue is cold.

Of course she knows none of this is logical.

* * *

It is easier this way, she thinks during the services. His mother is crying. His father is stoic. The way he comforts her reminds T'Pol of the death of her own child. Trip would try to call it sympathy, but it is only an observation. 

It's an observation that intrigues her, and preoccupies her mind during the service. Why are there similarities? Are they merely the common reactions of grieving parents? Was Trip attracted to her in an attempt to rebuild his familiar family situation by choosing someone like his father, while he is clearly more like his mother? The possibilities are fascinating. Later, she will do research.

* * *

"I've asked that you be stationed on board my ship, but if you'd like me to retract that request..." 

"No."

Archer's eyes crinkle. There are more lines around them now and his hair has gone gray. It has been three months since Trip died. Archer isn't taking it as well as he's pretending to take it. Humans don't seem to take to repression as well as Vulcans. She pretends not to notice. It took her a long time to learn how important politeness is for Humans, and what they consider polite, but she is improving.

"I'm hoping that most of the crew will stay under my command. I've locked in Reed and Mayweather. And you."

"Have you found a chief engineer?" Her hands are cold. She balls them up.

Archer's expression shifts slightly; he presses his lips together which pulls his features down. For a Human, it is a very subtle change. She has learned to react as though it has passed unnoticed.

"Not yet." He straightens something on his desk. She doesn't make a note of what it is. "I hear the cabins will be bigger in the new ship."

* * *

"You wanted to see me, sir." 

Archer is at his desk looking at a computer screen. He doesn't look up when she comes in. It has been a year since Trip died.

"I heard about the run-in you had with Commander Michaels."

"It wasn't a run-in." She picks apart the words with distaste. "It was a disagreement."

He swivels his chair and looks up at her. "You and Michaels have a lot of disagreements."

T'Pol quirks and eyebrow. "I hadn't noticed."

Archer squints at her. She knows that he can't tell whether she is being serious or not. Under most circumstances, she doesn't mind vague intentions, however...

"I hadn't," she repeats.

"All right." Archer's nostrils flare slightly as he sucks in a deep breath. She remembers when the scent of Humans was offensive to her, particularly their breath. It's muddy and salty and primal, but she's developed a tolerance, even an appreciation of it over the years. When she packed Trip's things, she'd buried her nose in his uniform and willed herself to remember that scent, because soon it would fade.

"Is that all?" she asks.

"No." Archer stands, careful not to stand too close to her. In personal situations, he avoids being within arm's length of her. The last time they'd touched aside from intense moments on board or on away missions had been when he'd hugged her before his speech. Perhaps it is a form of respect. Or fear. Or guilt. "I'm worried that there is a rift between the two of you."

T'Pol folds her hands behind her back. She is looking at his eyes, but his gaze, as always, is focused just above her own. "Our disagreement was professional, not personal. If you are insinuating that this is due to his position, I assure you that--"

Archer holds up a hand to silence her. "I'm having the same trouble with him."

"Our disagreement," she says, "Had nothing to do with Trip."

His eyes snap down, and he's looking at her. For the first time in a year, he's actually looking at her. She has to tense her muscles to avoid shivering. She is always cold. The temperature on the ship is set for Humans.

"Not everything has to do with Trip," she says.

"Yes. It does." Archer's voice is strange. She can't tell if it's been warped by an emotion or a lack thereof. He looks away from her again, back to the computer screen now on his right.

"You aren't betraying him by..." She stops, remembering what Humans consider to be polite. "By accepting the new chief engineer."

Archer sits again, leaning his chin against his fist. "Try to make him feel more welcome, if you can."

* * *

T'Pol expected Archer to die in a fight of some sort. Any fight, whether in his ship or in hand-to-hand combat. She hadn't expected illness to slowly drain him of his ability to fight, until he finally drifted away in his sleep. 

She was by his bedside when it happened. She watched the machines mark his death, and she held his hand until it went cold.

Now, they are having a kind of ceremony, celebrating his life and his accomplishments. They asked her to speak, but she declined. Instead, she is sitting by the Pacific Ocean, watching the waves drift slowly, until they quietly slide into the sand. The ocean goes on. It doesn't feel anything.

Trip died twelve years ago.

She squints up at the sky. For a moment, she considers another profession, but she dismisses the thought. Her hair and face are hot from the sun, and she stretches her fingers out.

The sun doesn't feel anything for the waves either, she realizes, but it still lends its warmth.

* * *

"What was Enterprise like?" one of the children asks. T'Pol is the only surviving member of the original crew. 

Trip died seventy-four years ago.

She is quiet for a long moment. Some of the children begin to shift in their seat impatiently. The children remind her of them, all of the ones who have passed by now. They are so eager to know more, because they are fully cognizant of the fact that they will never know everything there is to know in their short lives.

She regrets that she cannot give them the answer they want.

"Hopeful," she says. "And devastating."


	2. Anger

**Title:** Marking Time: Anger  
**Author:** dilly r  
**Archive:** Madpash dot com; others must ask by sending an email to dilificus at gmail dot com.

* * *

Trip grins. 

Maybe he winks, or maybe he cringes from pain, but he is definitely grinning. Like it's nothing. Like he's killed himself for nothing and thinks that it's some sort of inside joke they share. 

Half an hour later, Phlox tells him that Trip is dead. 

Later, Archer will not remember nodding quickly, or leaving the sickbay, or informing the crew. 

He will only remember that goddamn grin.

* * *

Being a starship captain taught Archer to be part actor. There was a time when he had two options: his true emotion or a blank stare. Now, he's faking enthusiasm and hope and optimism while his best friend is decomposing in a box. 

He thinks he's putting on a decent show, because most everyone is smiling and nodding and clapping now and then. Through most of the speech, he keeps his eyes focused on Ensign Sato or Ensign Mayweather or Lieutenant Reed. 

They seem to happy, he thinks. They are smiling and nodding and clapping with the rest of them. Archer is giving a speech and his crew is happy and T'Pol is alone in the outer hall while Trip is decomposing. 

Archer's seen decomposed bodies. He's seen the flesh half eaten away and the innards and skeleton exposed. Now, he can see Trip lying in a box, decomposing. 

Trip's skull is grinning.

* * *

Archer sees Trip's parents before the funeral. Mrs. Tucker's eyes are veiny, and she's clutching a hankerchief with which she dabs her nose from time to time. Mr. Tucker is straight-faced and more somber than Archer's ever seen him. He takes Archer aside, and says: "I told you to watch out for him. I told you that she couldn't take losing another child." 

For a moment, Archer doesn't respond. Mr. Tucker's eyes are fierce. They are the same color as Trip's are. 

Were. 

"I tried," is all he can think to say. 

"Not hard enough." 

"I know." 

Mr. Tucker looks away, toward his wife. "Why? Why did he do it? I know you told me. But, I don't understand." 

Archer furrows his brow. "Trip was... trying to save..." But Archer doesn't know how to finish his sentence. Trip was what? Suicidal? Trying to save what? Archer? Why did he do it that way? There were other ways. After ten years of finding other ways, Trip must have known there were other ways. 

Finally, Archer says, "I don't know." 

"That's not good enough," Mr. Tucker says. 

When Archer doesn't respond, Mr. Tucker leaves him. Archer goes to T'Pol and sits by her. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't look at him.

* * *

They will make the NX-01 a museum, Archer is told, with a memorial plaque affixed to the wall of the bridge documenting everyone who lost their lives on Humanity's first mission to the stars. 

They also tell him that he is to captain a new ship named the Triumphant. 

Archer doesn't respond to the second piece of news right away, but he does point out that the plaque should read "Charles 'Trip' Tucker III" or future generations might call him Charles. Trip hated that.

* * *

A gunfight is not what Archer would call successful first contact, but they came out of it alive. Reed sustained a few injuries, but the doctor says he'll be all right. Archer is in his cabin writing a report to Starfleet when the door chimes. 

"Come in," Archer called. He didn't want to see anyone after such a horrible failure, but he can suck it up for the time being. At least it gives him a moment away from the report. 

The door slides open, and Michaels walks in. He stands very still, with his arms behind his back. 

"Yes?" Archer swivels his chair around to look up at the young chief engineer. 

"S-sir. I wanted to thank you for... for saving my life." 

Archer's stomach tightens. He sits up straighter. "I want you to see Reed more often for those training sessions." 

"Yes, sir, I agree," Michaels mutters. 

Silence. Michaels shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

"Michaels?" Archer tries to take the edge out of his voice, but he knows it's still there. He tells himself that he's irritable because he's busy. 

"Yes, sir?" 

"Is that all?" 

"Nuh... um." Michaels jerks his head to the side, as if he heard something. He swallows heavily. "Yes, sir. Thank you again, sir." 

Archer watches Michaels skitter away. 

Two years later, Michaels will be shot to death, and his body will be left on alien soil.

* * *

"Ill?" 

T'Pol is standing very still, her hands hanging awkwardly by her hips. 

"Doc says I have a few years. at best, but it's..." Archer pauses. He makes a fist, watching his knuckles push against his skin. "It's debilitating. It's hard to say how much longer I'll be able to maintain command." 

He is not looking directly at her, but he can see her sway slightly, as if she were pushed. She says nothing. 

"I haven't told the crew. Or Starfleet. When it starts to get bad, I want to know I can trust you to take command from me." 

T'Pol jerks a nod. Her eyes are staring are fixed on the wall across from her. 

"I'm just not ready to give up yet." 

"I understand," she says, almost in a whisper. 

He takes a step toward her and puts his hand on her shoulder. She looks up at him; he looks down at her. She is maddeningly ageless. 

"I don't know how much longer I'll be able to express how much--" He cuts himself off. "I want you to know." 

"I do," she says. 

Archer pulls his hand back and turns away from her. He listens to the doors slide open, then shut.

* * *

The hospital in San Diego is little more than a place to die for Archer. He knew it when he first woke up to a doctor's face. He knows it now. There is no point to being there, but he doesn't ask for another place to die. 

It's hard for him to think now. Sometimes, he'll find that days have passed since the last day he remembers. Things move that he doesn't remember moving. Flowers come and go. Visitors come and go. Roommates come and go. 

One thing is constant. Whenever he wakes, T'Pol is sitting next to him. She's usually reading. He can watch her with her head bowed and her eyebrow arched for hours, listen to the smooth brush and snap sound of a real book page turning. She looks almost the same way she did when he met her, and that's comforting. Sometimes, he'll ask her to read aloud to him. A few minutes after she's read it, he doesn't remember it anymore. 

He wakes with a start from a dream he was having about Florida, before it was blown apart and asks, "What day is it?" 

"Tuesday," T'Pol answers. Her book is closed, sitting on the beside table under a stark white lamp. She looks pale. 

"I think today is the day," he says. 

The hint of an expression shows itself in the corners of her mouth and between her eyebrows. 

"You don't have to go to the funeral." It's getting hard to breath. "I know you hate crowds." 

T'Pol curls her hand around Archer's. Her skin is searing hot. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, forcing a deep breath, then opens his eyes again. 

"There you are," he whispers. 

He dies with a grin on his face. 


End file.
